


Crack My Ribcage Open & Pull My Heart Right Through

by SilkenAmbiguity



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Basically life hurts and Larry can't cope, Blood and Gore, Depression, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Probably ptsd too honestly, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-29 16:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17207132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkenAmbiguity/pseuds/SilkenAmbiguity
Summary: Larry is so fucked.





	Crack My Ribcage Open & Pull My Heart Right Through

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote Larry in pain because I am in pain and needed to vent. Sorry fam

> **From:** **Sally Face :-)**
> 
> Hey Larry Face, u ok? Haven't heard from u all day :0

Larry's hand slithers out of the covers to snatch the glowing phone from the bedside table. The bright screen makes his eyes sting in the darkness - they always start to ache after so many hours awake. Reading the text makes his stomach churn. He should answer, he doesn't want Sal to be worrying about him. Instead, he places the device back on the table facedown, and turns his back on it. Larry stares blankly at the wall.

It's ironic, how many hours he spends in bed given how few hours he spends actually sleeping. 

He thinks sometimes, that maybe the red eyed demon is still around. That it got inside of him. That it will never go away. It gapes like a black hole in his chest and ruins every good thing in his life. But then he looks around his room at the half-smoked blunt on the bedside table, the art piled up in the corner that doesn't inspire him anymore, the rejection letters from the universities he applied to stuffed in the garbage bin, and he realizes there's no demon, anymore. There's no one to blame, but himself.

His chest feels tight, constricted by the weight of his own failure as a human being. He misses the days when he could pick up the walkie talkie and call Sal, the other teen appearing at his door in minutes prepared to bear-hug his friend's self-hatred into submission. They would listen to Sanity's Fall and the smaller boy would braid Larry's hair, then brush it out and braid it again.

He told Larry that it was one of the things his mother taught him before she died. It made the taller boy feel special, knowing that Sally would share such intimate details of his life with him. Larry wishes he was there now, to brush out his greasy, tangled hair and run his fingers through all the knots and snags in his heart. 

He isn't, though. Sal was moved out of this shithole building, living with Todd and his boyfriend. Larry's happy for him. Sal got out. Sal is safer and happier there. Larry can't say he isn't resentful, however. He's left behind. Left behind again, like he has been all his life.

It was kind of funny. 

He discovered that his dad had just _left_ him, and then Sally told him everything would be okay. Sal said he wouldn't leave him. And then, Sally left him, too. Not long after Sal moved out, Lisa moved up with Henry. She said that Larry was a grown man now and she was "giving him some space to spread his wings". 

So, here he is, alone. Living in the basement. Unwanted by everyone, needed by no one, rejected by the world. Well, maybe that's a little dramatic. After all, as much as it hurts, he can't blame them. He wouldn't stay with himself, either, if he could leave.

Well... maybe he can leave. He thinks blankly about the rope coiled in the back corner of his closet. His fingers twitch and his breathing quickens. It would be so easy. He just wants everything to stop. He's so fucking tired, but he _can't ever_ _fucking sleep._ God damn it. 

His phone starts buzzing behind him. He sighs and it feels like his ribcage is going to collapse. It hurts. Rolling over, he answers the incoming call with the beginnings of a headache. 

"Hello?"

"Hey Lar," Sal responds, voice tainted with concern and uncertainty, "you didn't answer my text?"

"Sorry. I've been really engrossed in a new painting I'm working on," Larry lies easily, rubbing a hand down his face and scrubbing at his eyes.

Sal sighs in relief, "Oh, okay. That's... good. Haven't seen you paint anything in a while."

"Yeah. Had a bit of a creative block for a while."

"Yeah?" Sal echoes through the phone. 

"Yeah," he takes a deep breath, diverting the subject, "How are you? Nightmares been any better?"

"They've, um... they've been... fine." Larry hears shuffling noises from the other end of the line, "Actually, you know what? They've been worse. It's fine, though. I'm fine. We have everything under control with the cult, so I don't know what I'm worrying about. I think that's why I needed to hear your voice. Everything is okay your way, right?"

Larry feels his eyes start to burn. 

"Yeah, Sally Face, everything's been good. I'm good. I, uh... I miss you. Feels weird not having you here."

Sal smiles on the other side of the line, "I know, it feels weird for me, too. I miss you more, Larry Face. I promise I'll come visit soon, I've just been really busy working on new tech with Todd. I love you."

"I - " the taller boy's voice cracks and he covers his mouth for a moment, holding the phone away from his face to heave a hitching breath.

Larry injects as much false happiness as he can into his voice, without overdoing it, and replies, "Love you too, Sal! Can't wait. Well, I've got to go, my paint is starting to dry, hah."

Sal frowns, "Okay. Have fun, nerd. Talk to you soon,"

"Sure thing, talk to you later."

He hangs up and practically hurls his phone across the room.

"FUCK," he cries, whirling and punching his wall with the strength all his pent-up frustration. 

Then, he falls back onto his bed, sitting and hiding his head between his knees. He's gripping his hair with both hands, not feeling his swollen and bloody knuckles, not feeling the pain of his hair being ripped out between his fingers. His chest is heaving, his eyes are wide and glassy but he's not really looking, not really seeing, because the worst parts of his life are flashing before his eyes. 

He sees his dad walk out the door, waving and smiling as though it wasn't the _last time he would ever see his son_ \- he sees the brutal murder of Mrs. Sanderson, sees her make eye contact with him through the crack in the door as she gurgles and bleeds out, gaze screaming for him to _help her_ \- he sees Sal's mask fly off and feels the painful impact of it hit his face, followed by an even more painful realization, as he looks at his best friend's teary face and realizes he would very much like to _kiss him_ \- he sees a freezer full of human meat, meat that he'd been eating in his sandwiches for _weeks_ \- he sees the red eyes of the demon and feels it's claws in his guts, digging and pulling and using him like a puppet on strings, because he's a toy and he's in too deep and _he's fucked_ - 

And he lurches forward and pukes. 

He's not sure how much longer he can live like this.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Pssssst the title is based on Swimming Pool by The Front Bottoms.


End file.
